


i'll give you my song (these words to you)

by rainbowanatomy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, aka glee taught us a lesson: there's nothing that music can't fix, post Revolution of the Daleks, there's some angst ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29739519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowanatomy/pseuds/rainbowanatomy
Summary: Sing you what I feelMy soul is trueI don’t have the worldCan’t give it to you, girlBut all that I can doAll that I can doIs give this song to you
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	i'll give you my song (these words to you)

**Author's Note:**

> Title Song: Song 4 U - Victorious  
> Story Song: Keep Holding On - Avril Lavigne (in italics)
> 
> I was watching a glee compilation this morning on the treadmill and got smacked over the head with this idea. I guess I really love thasmin songfics! Enjoy!

It took Yaz a long time to take up the guitar. She was never musically inclined as a young child, much to her parents’ dismay. It was Sonya that turned out to be the musical one, though she kept her talent confined to the Khan flat at most times, always one to try to outmatch Yaz in playful disappointment. Their parents, Najia and Hakim, gifted Sonya with an electric keyboard, which remained faithfully on “classical” mode after her 15th birthday (which was when Yaz threatened to toss it off their balcony). After the keyboard came the ukulele, followed by a full guitar.

On one particularly dark day in Yaz’s late adolescence, she skipped school, lingering behind the flat until the bus had picked up her little sister and her parents drove off for work. She snuck back up to the flat and laid in her bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars Sonya had stuck above both of their beds when she was four. She thought about dying. About what it would feel like, the light at the end of the tunnel flooding her eyes until… nothingness. It was far too quiet outside her head. Inside, though, it had become a cacophony. Her skin itched.

The living room was no better a change of scenery, sat in front of the telly for an hour. Her phone was off, nothing on it to distract her. Her eyes strayed to the kitchen drawers where they kept their cutlery, then quickly swept back to the telly. That way would be far too messy. Too selfish. She thought of the officer on the side of the road, the 50 pence piece in her drawer. Any way would break that promise. Silver glinted in the corner of her eye, a sunbeam catching the neck of Sonya’s guitar.

Her chest ballooned, something unfamiliar swelling in between her ribs. She hadn’t been curious about anything in some time. A magnet pull and her hands were wrapping around it, slinging the strap over her shoulders. The strings cut into her hands, left imprints. She strummed down once, resulting in an ugly mix of notes. _Fair enough_ , she thought. She hadn’t seen Sonya play it in some time, honing focus on the piano and occasionally dabbling in the small ukulele in their closet. Without further thought, she turned her phone on, and navigated to YouTube, typing in _How to turn a guitar_.She thought of the side of the road, once again hopeful she could fulfill that life-saving promise.

That day changed her life.

* * *

This day changed her life.

_“It’s okay to be sad."_

The words echo in the empty TARDIS. Well, not empty. Yaz is still here. Or rather, she's _back_ , after 10 of the worst months of her life. But the living ship certainly feels empty without Ryan and Graham. Somewhere in the winding labyrinth, the Doctor is wandering around, kicking walls, checking panels, whispering back and forth with the heart of the TARDIS. Yaz can hear her pass by her door every so often, scrunching back in her bed as if she can hide from the sound of echoing blundstone boots. She waits for a knock at her door. After the third time it happens without her Doctor checking in, she realizes her door is gone. _Oh_. The Doctor told them once upon a time the TARDIS is telepathic. "Thank you," she murmurs softly into the air. A soft whirr answers, _You're welcome_. She leans back against the pillow, staring at the shitty glow-in-the-dark stars she stuck up there the first few weeks of moving in. The Doctor had laughed at her then, " _You know the TARDIS can show you any galaxy in the universes you want, right?_ " Yaz had stuck her tongue out, " _How would I know that?_ "

" _I'm telling you now!_ "

" _That's true._ " Yaz had taken her hand, quick, half to restrain her sonic screwdriver trigger finger, and half just to touch her. The Doctor's skin was cool, but the connection lit every nerve on fire. The Doctor smiled at her. She gave it a squeeze. " _But I like these ones for now. They remind me of my old room..._ " She let go, almost as quick has she'd taken the Doctor's hand, and grabbed the other packet of stars. She held it out to her. " _Help me put them up?_ "

She stares up at them alone now, stomach churning. It stung in the most selfish way, seeing the Doctor's cheeks wet with tears as the TARDIS door closed behind the boys, already wanting to go back in time. Being alone with the Doctor had been something she wanted for a long time, and at long last she had (at least, until the inevitable came, as Jack had warned her and she had reminded the Doctor, like the harsh shove she'd already delivered). She hadn't thought about what the context would be, _couldn't_ think about it, because she wanted it to be perfect. _Needed_ it to be, so she could tell the Doctor how she felt about her. How her soul sang for the first time in three years, the last time she put down Sonya's guitar. How she finally felt seen. Needed. How much she _loved_ her.

So she hadn't imagined the silence that settled over them, thick in the air. She hadn't noticed how much space the boys had filled, how barren the rooms felt without them. How it would be twelve hours since she and the Doctor last spoke to each other. She wanted to hug her, show her that she was crying, too, in pain at the boys leaving, in pain from being left behind. In the joy of reunion they so desperately deserved. Ask her about what she learned on her home planet.

Instead, she hides. Her Doctor feels farther away than before.

* * *

It's been five days. They haven't traveled much in the way of anywhere. "Lot's of maintenance to do!" the Doctor chirps every time they pass each other, long coat swapped for a shop apron loaded with tools. "She hates being left alone so long."

"Doctor?" she asks today, holding a burning cup of tea. The time lord blinks fast several times, and she realizes it's the first time she's said her name in 120 hours. It still tastes the same on her tongue, full of longing.

"Yeah, Yaz?" the Doctor returns, lips quirking just a bit. It's the most honest smile she'd gotten out of her in ten months.

"How long is 'so long', eh?"

The honest smile blends so easily into a fake one she should be insulted the Doctor underestimates her detective skills.

"Oh, not too long! Time ticks by real fast for time lords!" A pregnant pause, swelling to ten months. "Do you.. want to come watch me work? The water park needs tinkering. She turns off the water when it's not in use and it's proving rather difficult to get it back up and running."

Her heart catches. She imagines the Doctor as she often was, grease on her cheeks and hair, those god-awful dorky goggles, laughing at all Yaz's jokes as she tinkers away beneath the console, in the hallways, in the ever-evasive kitchen (well, ever-evasive for the Doctor (and Graham, with his bread habit). It made itself plenty known to Yaz). Then her mind reels over the past five days. The past ten months that smashed through her life like Mount Vesuvius erupting.

"I'm a bit tired," she finds herself lying, "This is decaf." She taps her nail against the mug, still burning red into her palm.

"Oh, right," the Doctor murmurs, "You humans and your 8 hours a night." The relief in the time lord's voice pierces her ribs. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah." She lifts a shoulder, nods as enthusiastically as she can. "Maybe. If you still want my company."

Those green eyes flare and the lips she longs to press hers against part, but she turns away and strides away. Eventually, blundstone bootsteps echo softer and softer behind her as the Doctor takes her own retreat.

It takes her ten minutes before she realizes she's lost. The TARDIS hums quietly around her. "Where the hell am I?" she hisses, harsher than she wants. It's not the ship's fault. Except it _is_ , and all she wants is to curl into bed, get this stupid mug out of her hands, and get a good cry in, and hopefully drift into an empty sleep, where she won't dream of the Doctor's hand in hers, soft fingers across her skin, their stolen laughs and smiles. The TARDIS gives a louder chime. Right. Telepathic. "Sorry," she says, louder, "I'd just like to go to my room." After a heart beat, she adds a tentative, "Please?"

She turns the corner, spies her purple door out of the array of others in other hues, and dives for it, spilling half her tea in the process. She stumbles blindly into the room. Her shin hits something sharp in the dark as she grasps for the light switch. "Fuck," she swears, losing more tea. Her hand slaps the wall where her lights normally are, come up empty. "Oi, don't mess with me!" she yelps at the ship. No responding chime. She switches the mug to her left hand and reaches out with her right. Ah, finally! She flicks the switch. The lights are low, softer than her room, fairy lights strung around the edge where the wall meets the ceiling. She squints, taking it in. Her heart catches as she realizes.

She's in a music room.

And there, in the center, is an acoustic guitar. A siren song, she abandons the empty mug entirely, moves forward. Her fingers glide over its curves, shiny new strings. The strap, purple, is over her instinctively. She strums. The perfect tuning sings out to her. Closing her eyes, she tries to recall the notes she hasn't played for three years.

Yaz doesn't even notice the door has vanished behind her.

* * *

The next day, Yaz ends up sitting with the Doctor for a few hours as the time lord tinkers away in the media room, fixing the projections and surround sound. The time lord politely requests tools at various moments, and Yaz passes them to her, the muscle memory of each in her hand still ingrained in her, even the ones that aren't human. The Doctor doesn't notice that she notices each small, genuine smile that graces the time lord's lips each time Yaz gives her the correct tool. Occasionally their fingers brush, the most contact since before Gallifrey. The touch burns, and she wants to abandon her hurt, her betrayal, her fear, and lean in, envelope herself in the Doctor's embrace. Protect her Doctor like her Doctor protected her. Her pulse skyrockets each time. The Doctor throws a startled glance, looks straight into her eyes the first time, the smile stretching just a bit wider. As if she can hear her heartbeat. She realizes it could be true.

She jumps up after a few hours, excuses herself, and races through the labyrinth to the music room to calm her pounding chest.

* * *

The music soothes her, carries her places that don't exist. It's around the fifth day of this, eleven days since they left the boys on Earth, two since they started traveling again, to no where of significance, that the plan starts to take shape in her head. She needs her Doctor back. Needs her to open up. Trust her. She needs to get this ache out of her chest, and trust the Doctor in return, tell her what happened. She's lost all her words but found her music.

The Doctor is a lot like the guitar. Maybe the Doctor is a bit like her, broken. Maybe she needs help healing, as Yaz did all those years ago.

So she sits, hidden in the depths of the TARDIS, and practices.

* * *

One month of an elephant growing to the size of the sun later, Yaz is finally ready. She's started slowly, an extra hour tacked on to helping the Doctor with maintenance. Grabbing her hand instinctively when they run, heart soaring when the Doctor squeezes tight. Making an extra cup of tea as they awkwardly occupy the same rooms.

She hears the crying long before she reaches the console. The memory of the Doctor's face as she turned away from them, sorrow, ready to sacrifice herself for them. The Doctor's face as Yaz shoved her, betrayed. The Doctor's face, wet with tears, crying as she stared after Ryan and Graham. Yaz sprints forward, and bursts into the room.

The Doctor is already wiping her face dry as she turns to take her in, panting in the doorway.

"Hiya, Yaz, whatcha running from?" the time lord quips, "Don't tell me the marmites are back." The words leave her breathless, frustration welling to anger, sorrow stinging her eyes. The first words that come out are a repetition of a question,

"How long is 'so long'?"

The Doctor blinks, takes a step back.

"I'm sorry?"

" _How long is 'so long'?_ " she repeats, fingers curling into a fist, knuckles going pale.

"Oh. Space jail?" The Doctor turns her head, swipes a palm across her cheek again, "Yaz, I told you, silly. Not too long. Barely a second in time lord time."

"Doctor," and even in her anger, the moniker comes out as a caress, "I was left behind for ten months, waiting! This silence isn't working!" The Doctor's shoulders hunch as Yaz hurls the words at her. "I deserve answers! Aren't I worth answers?!"

There's this moment, Yaz remembers, when she first learned adults didn't know everything. The confusion her mum kept hidden from her and Sonya. The conspiracy theories her da spun, to explain the world. The moment of her 18th birthday when an encyclopedia of knowledge didn't just appear in her brain, the shame she felt when her 17 year old peers marks exceeded hers. The Doctor, her Doctor, is ancient, all the energy of the Big Bang. The response shatters the silence between them, an atomic bomb,

"I DON'T _HAVE_ THEM!"

The Doctor whirls on her feet to meet her gaze, eyes blazing, stars colliding to make comets. Yaz takes a step back. The Doctor slaps her hands over her mouth.

"Yaz, I'm..." she breathes behind her fingers, eyes welling. It takes Yaz a moment to realize her cheeks are already wet. She takes another step back. And another. And then she's running away.

* * *

There's a knock at her door, several hours later. Her name, spoken like a prayer. She shoots out of bed and stares at her door for a long moment. There's another knock.She opens it, takes in the sight before her.

The Doctor's eyes, rimmed red, full of a million stars. The time lord pushes past her in the doorway, kicks her feet against the floor. Yaz stays in the doorway, staring out into the amber halls of the TRADIS, hand still on the doorknob.

"Yaz, I-" the Doctor starts, "Oh. I remember when we hung those up there. Together." Yaz turns slowly, finds the Doctor staring up at the ceiling. She turns away, heads into the hallway. A few moment later, she hears the Doctor's boots echoing behind her. The Doctor doesn't try to talk as they walk through the corridors. Yaz almost considers closing the music room door between them as she arrives. Instead, she pauses at the threshold, hears the Doctor stop behind her.

"Yaz?" the Doctor tries again, voice thick with something she can't make out.

"How long is 'so long'?" she asks again, staring into the darkness of the music room. "Don't bullshite me this time."

Her heart rings in her ears to fill the silence that stretches for eternity. Then, barely audible,

"Just about forty years."

The hot rage melts away like snow, unbelievable sorrow sprouting buds in her chest instead.

"But like I said, Yaz," the Doctor begins again, and her voice catches on her name, "S'not so long for a time lord."

"Please stop doing that," Yaz whispers, holding out a hand, "You don't have to pretend with me."

The Doctor's fingers twine through hers slowly, and she opens the door. They cross the music room threshold together, and Yaz turns the lights on, letting the ethereal light fill the space. She leads her to the guitar stand, then drops her hand.

"So this is where you've been hiding from me," the Doctor observes, tone lacking all judgement. Yaz wants to correct her, tell her she hasn't been a _child_ , hiding out. But she had been.

"Yeah," she says with a shrug. "Did I ever tell you I used to play the guitar?" she asks, voice soft, tired of yelling.

"No, you didn't."

"Playing changed my life..." She picks up the instrument and her pick, and takes a few steps back, sinks down into the padded stool she's worn her snaps into, "You changed my life." The Doctor smiles shyly, sits down at the stool across from her that definitely wasn't there yesterday. Silently, she thanks the TARDIS in her head, and pushes on, "There's a lot we need to talk about. I'm not always good with words, so I've been... trying to figure out how to say something." She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes so she doesn't have to see the Doctor's face. Her fingers find the chords, and she begins playing. And when her fingers hit the notes for the first verse, she begins singing,

_"You're not alone, together we stand_

_I'll be by your side, you know, I'll take your hand_

_When it gets cold and it feels like the end_

_There's no place to go, you know, I won't give in_

_No, I won't give in"_

She plays through the chorus before she allows her eyes to open, just a crack. The Doctor watches her hands, eyes round, lips parted. Then her eyes flick to meet Yaz's gaze, and Yaz finds herself smiling back, the confidence of the instrument thrumming through her veins. She leans into the second verse.

_"So far away, I wish you were here_

_Before it's too late, this could all disappear_

_Before the doors close and it comes to an end_

_With you by my side, I will fight and defend_

_I'll fight and defend, yeah, yeah"_

The Doctor's expression changes, unreadable, as she plays through the chorus again. But she's come this far. Somewhere in her head, she's back in her flat on Earth, really _playing_ for the first time, expanding and growing. Maybe even shining half as bright as the Doctor. She closes her eyes again, transitioning to the bridge.

_"Hear me when I say, when I say I believe_

_Nothing's gonna change_

_Nothing's gonna change destiny_

_Whatever is meant to be will work out perfectly_

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah_

_Keep holding on_

_'Cause you know we'll make it through_

_We'll make it through_

_Just stay strong_

_'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you"_

Yaz lets her eyes open for the last few lines, finds the Doctor watching her hands again. Like last time, the Doctor's gaze moves to hers as soon as her eyes open, and she holds it this time, keeps it, wills the words through her heart and into both of the Doctor's. She sees tears. Feels her own.

_"There's nothing you can say, nothing you can do_

_There's no other way when it comes to the truth_

_So keep holding on_

_'Cause you know we'll make it through_

_We'll make it through"_

She strums the last note, and then silence hangs in the air. Not entirely silent. Her heart beat rings in her ears. She suspects the Doctor can hear. She stands, takes off the guitar, places it gently back on its stand, then turns back to the Doctor, still sitting, motionless across from her, silent tears reaching her neck. She takes a deep breath, "Doctor-"

Her Doctor launches herself out of her chair, knocks the wind out of her as arms wrap her. She hugs back after the shock wears off, burying her face in the crook of the Doctor's neck. She inhales, deep, the smell of TARDIS grease, peppermint, and what Yaz had come to know as true stardust, filling her head and making her dizzy.

"I love you," she breathes, finally, and feels full of air. "I love you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes."

"I love you, too, Yaz," the Doctor whispers back, "Love is terrifying for a time lord. It always ends."

"I meant what I sang. Every word."

"Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

The Doctor pulls back from the hug first, and Yaz reluctantly lets go, but they stay linked by their hands. "Never think you aren't worth answers, Yasmin Khan. There's so much I learned. And so much I couldn't puzzle through in prison. There's so much to tell you..."

"I'm here to listen. As long as you'll have me."

"Forever, Yaz.” The Doctor doesn’t add the disclaimer. She doesn’t need to. They both know it. But they have _now_. Yaz leans in first, but the Doctor rushes to meet her half way. It’s quick and clumsy. And it takes Yaz’s breath away. The Doctor leans in again and Yaz happily presses their lips together for more.

* * *

When they leave the music room, Yaz grabs the guitar last minute. She won’t be needing to hide away any time soon. She checks over her shoulder as they head to the kitchen for lunch. The door is already gone. She remembers standing on her balcony, playing well into the night, the Sheffield nightlife active around her. Her past pain numbing every cell.

“Yaz?” the Doctor calls, already several paces ahead. She turns away from where the door once was, and locks eyes with the Doctor, who holds out her hand with a soft smile. She grins back, the ache of the past eleven months already fading. She takes her Doctor’s hand, and they walk into their future.


End file.
